


Grand Guignol

by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite



Series: The Odalisque Timestamps [7]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gore, M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex, Violence, Voyeurism, graphic murder, instructions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3062936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“He just likes to look.” Drawing the man above him closer with no more than fingertips against his cheek, Will murmurs against his ear, “Can’t get it up anymore to fuck me himself.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>A twitch of muscle beneath Hannibal’s eyes brings them narrower, a look so subtle that none but the boy would ever notice it, and Will laughs again in delight. “If you’d rather not…”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“No,” the man insists, immediately, grinning as he reaches out, experimentally, to run a hand across the little body spread in front of him. “The Pope could be in that chair and I wouldn’t care.”</i>
</p><p>Puppy brings home a toy and Hannibal decides to watch him play with it - and him - properly.</p><p><b>Warning</b>: do heed the tags, there is graphic murder and blood and death in this, so if that squicks you... Odalisque is probably not your cup of tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grand Guignol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HarleyQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarleyQueen/gifts).



> For the UNBELIEVABLE [Harley](http://poetry-carved-in-flesh.tumblr.com/)! Not only for the mindblowingly fantastic art (because have you SEEN IT??) but for the endless support, the adorable asks and comments, and because we gave her a chicken and she said yes, so... she's stuck with us now.
> 
> We love you bb! And we really hope you enjoy this :D have a FANTASTIC new year and we cannot wait to hang with you more in 2k15

“Is he really going to watch the whole time?”

“Don’t worry about him - he’s harmless.”

“He’s not your dad, is he?”

Will laughs, pressing his fingers across his mouth and glancing towards Hannibal. “No,” answers Will, voice lilting a little higher as the laugh gives way to a softer sound, and he stretches his arms in a wide sprawl across the bed. “He just likes to look.” Drawing the man above him closer with no more than fingertips against his cheek, Will murmurs against his ear, “Can’t get it up anymore to fuck me himself.”

A twitch of muscle beneath Hannibal’s eyes brings them narrower, a look so subtle that none but the boy would ever notice it, and Will laughs again in delight. “If you’d rather not…”

“No,” the man insists, immediately, grinning as he reaches out, experimentally, to run a hand across the little body spread in front of him. “The Pope could be in that chair and I wouldn’t care.”

Will bites his lip and grins, pretends to shiver when the man strokes over his stomach. It had been Hannibal's idea, this time, to watch Will work. The last time he had merely watched, he had a trembling Will in his lap and a much younger version of him on screen. Beautiful boys, both, but now, as Will laughs and lifts his hips for the man to slide his pants off of him, Hannibal can relish his boy, his little wolf, at play.

They had found him off-island, in the depths of a gay club where the music was too loud and the people too many. Will had danced, and Hannibal had watched as this man slipped his hands over his boy, pulled up Will’s shirt, pinched his nipples till Will was almost lying back against him in pleasure. They had found him and taken him here, and now Will rolls onto all fours and makes the most of what his beautiful body offers when he bends it.

The man behind him certainly appreciates the view, reaching to touch every inch of skin he can, bending to bite softly against the boy’s lower back until Will moans softly, trembles and bends further in invitation, knees spreading first one then the other until he lies presented.

Despite the warm hands that hold him, the words murmured in warm Greek over his skin, the tongue suddenly hot in his ass enough to make Will’s cheeks flood with color, he has eyes only for Hannibal watching, and reaches across the bed with another sweet moan, fingers splaying just for him.

Hannibal resists the urge to reach for Will in return, merely fanning his fingers where they rest against his knee, long legs elegantly crossed. He tilts his head to the side a little, far less interest in what the man is doing to Will than in observing the florid crimson that spans across his boy’s nose, beneath his eyes, and the way his lips unfurl like rose petals. Beautiful, he mouths to Will, pleased when it elicits a moan from him, and ignoring the grin that the man gives in thinking it was entirely his doing.

The man tells Will crude things - how good his ass tastes, asking if he wants the man’s big dick inside of him - and not until he tells Will how he’s going to fill him with cum do Hannibal’s eyes narrow a little more, a twitch in his jaw of momentary displeasure before Will’s bright grin reassures him.

Circling a hand around Will’s slender waist, the man grasps Will’s cock and strokes him quickly, burying his face deeper between the boy’s cheeks and now he does earn a moan of his own. Will has always favored this, always squirmed most beautifully when given this particular attention, and Hannibal contents himself in just watching, truly pleased in fact to not be managing the unwieldy boy himself for once and instead free to simply savor how wonderfully he takes his pleasure, and the promise of what’s to come.

And it is just pleasure, he takes. Though the man claims all kinds of cruelties on the boy, he is not Hannibal, he will not hold him captive to his own pleasure until he cries. Instead, he brings Will close enough that his cock his hard and leaking, deeply pink and curved up against his belly. Hannibal notes with a brief snarl how the man splays his hand over it, feels the scar and coos at Will that he is such a brave boy to survive an operation like that.

Will’s little laugh of pleasure, his bright eyes up at Hannibal, are enough to soothe the snarl away, for now. Will continues to squirm, playing into the man’s words and fantasies. Yes, he's a good little boy, no, his father doesn't know he bends so sweetly for other men, yes, he did lie about his age.

It's all words, bitten and pressed to the trembling little form on the bed, and he agrees to them all, to be the man’s every filthy wish if he will just keep touching and kissing and sucking him. And then Will is flipped, enough for the man to see his flushed cheeks, his wide grin, before he strokes himself, in plain view and plain pride before the boy, watching as Will’s eyes widen as though he's impressed, as though he has never taken anyone so big.

He takes the man when coaxed, soft lips over hard cock, eyes up at him as the man pushes deeper, and deeper, and Will affects a choke to feel a soft hand to his cheek and soft words ensuring him he is a good boy, he can take more. A rhythm builds, enough for Will to handle silent, but he moans regardless, eyes falling closed as he works his tongue, opens his jaw wider.

And it's then the man turns to Hannibal, a look of the most cruel triumph as he rocks his hips into the beautiful boy’s mouth and regards the man who can no longer have him.

Hannibal’s fingers flex, an innocuous enough movement to any but Will who know the simple threat behind the movement. For a moment, he envisions himself, stepping behind the man to push his hips deeper still, enough that Will truly gags, eyes watering beautifully as his boy looks up to Hannibal and watches broad familiar hands wrap almost tenderly around the man’s jaw and twist his head nearly backwards.

A sigh, shivering and soft, escapes Hannibal’s lips as he tilts his chin upward, and the man’s grin emboldens with a sound he interprets as resignation, defeat, to a younger and more virile victor.

Will knows how quickly this game could end if Hannibal chooses not to restrain the possessive jealousy searing hot inside of him, a feeling appreciated by Hannibal as much as every other emotion that his boy can pull and pluck from him so effortlessly. Turning bright blue eyes upward, Will affects another choke, shoulders jerking forward, and the man laughs.

“Too big for you?” he croons, and Will nods, a plea silent in his eyes for it to stop, and knowing that it won’t. Spit trickles down his swollen lips, onto his chin, tongue extended to reach the base of the man’s cock and mouth full with him. A waste of the boy’s talents, Hannibal considers, to fuck Will so tediously as if he were the man’s own fist, when Will is so eminently capable of performing this act better than all others.

He’s told again that he’s a good boy, stroke through his curls and along his cheek before the man finally pushes him back again, rubbing himself as Will stretches onto his back, legs close together.

“Spread yourself,” Hannibal murmurs, dark eyes alight with darker intentions.

Will’s eyes are on him quickly, narrowed in delight, before he blinks and returns them to the man above him, almost scared, almost innocent, almost, almost, almost...

He spreads his legs, obedient, a hand down to stroke his own cock and pull a shivering sigh from his lips. The man’s grin grows a little darker, always, when men get this close, when they know they will conquer this beautiful doll, bend him any way they want, pull all kinds of pretty sounds from him. Will gasps when his ankles are grabbed and he's yanked further down the bed, spread wider. He nods in understanding to stay that way, and bites his lip.

Relative to how Hannibal enjoys taking him, the rough entry is not worth the pained whimper Will arches his neck to make. He squirms, lips parted and smiling as the man kisses over his chest, up to his neck, his cheek, to his lips to dominate there as well. Little hands seek over the man’s back, legs curling around him almost sweetly as every thrust pulls with it a moan, or a soft noise of pleasure.

Will watches over his shoulder, watches Hannibal's hand flex into a fist that he presses to his lips. He could play him for hours, beg for more, to cum, to not cum, be everything the man inside him wants just so Hannibal can watch.

"Harder," he moans, draws nails down the smooth back before returning his hands to the man’s hair as he speeds up, pushing Will harder up against the headboard.

“You want daddy to fuck you hard?” the man gasps, and it’s all Hannibal can do to simply close his eyes for a moment rather than roll them, when he sees Will’s grin widen in genuine amusement.

“Please,” begs Will, throat working on a panting swallow as he arches, back bridged high off the bed between where his shoulders drive against the headboard and his hips are held in place to be fucked into the mattress. “Please fuck me, daddy.”

To his great credit, Will does not laugh as he says the words, and to anyone who doesn’t know the little wolf for what he truly is, it sounds of genuine pain, genuine pleasure, mingled together into a rising moan that parts his lips. Hannibal almost - almost - pities the men that fall so easily for Will’s little games, so ready to believe that they have lucked into a beautiful boy who will indulge their sordid, silly fantasies with such fervor. It is a beautiful game to watch, from the chair where Hannibal sits motionless, to consider how many men have been so readily blinded by such extraordinary skill.

Will allows it a moment, two, more, moaning and writhing, before his hands seek as though to touch the man’s face, as though to stroke over it in adoration and slip to his neck to feel his pulse. To feel it speed up, and up, and up, as Will’s fingers squeeze, up just under the jaw as Hannibal had so long ago taught him.

He continues the soft whimpers, the little murmurs, still curls his legs tight around the other man to hold him close, ankles crossed in a way that will be very difficult, if not impossible, to shake. He becomes a siren, a triton, beautiful and frightening, entirely otherworldly as the man swears and tries to bat Will’s hands away, finds him not resistant but quick, so quick, to catch the blows and return them.

In one motion he has the man on his back, his own legs hold the other’s open as he slips free in his struggle, holding him prone as Will hums a quiet note and keeps his hands steady on the other’s pulse.

“You seriously thought this would be free?” Will asks him softly, purring the Greek into the warm air the man pants quickly into, struggling still, leaving scratches over Will’s skin, catching him with a fist against his jaw that brings another moan from the boy, a shiver.

Hannibal draws a breath, out of rhythm with the steadiness it had assumed, as blood spills past Will’s lips and he bares his teeth in a pleased grin. The man’s wild eyes turn to Hannibal, pleading what his voice cannot beyond a wet choking sound, and Hannibal finally returns the man’s smile, his own quiet victory at last.

But he does not rise to help, merely watches, as still as he was while Will was being fucked, enraptured by the sight of his little wolf’s savagery, as merciless as his body had been in pleasure, now beautifully brutal in carnage, instead. Another blow, clumsy, catches the side of Will’s face and his fingers slip, just enough that the blood can flow again for another pulse, two, more. The movement is so slight that Hannibal himself does not see it, but only knows from the changing color of the man’s face that Will has made a rare mistake.

Hannibal’s smile widens.

Licking the blood from his mouth, teeth stained, Will snarls softly, “Why aren’t you dead yet?” and the words are enough that the man realizes his fate, that Hannibal will not help, that this was arranged far in advance and he only the unwitting prey that they found first. He bucks, hard, up against Will - not enough to completely unseat him but enough that with a shout, the man gets Will to his back again, ankles still locked firmly around his waist.

Will does not look to Hannibal for help, and Hannibal could not be prouder, fascinated by the unexpected turn of events, the blood running from Will’s nose, his mouth, staining his skin and the sheets beneath.

Sharp fingernails dig into the man’s skin, tearing now, as Will tries to find his grasp again, but the man returns it, choking Will beneath his jaw, squeezing his hands brutally around the boy as he struggles to keep his own rattling breath.

A groan, frustration not fear, and Will withdraws one hand to push the heel of it up against the man’s chest, three sharp knocks and he has him breathless again, gasping from the assault on his solar plexus, releasing Will enough for the boy to scramble free, to butt his head hard against the man’s nose, unseat him to the bed entirely.

It is almost a haughty gesture when Will sits up, frowning at his hand as he flexes his fingers, as the man beside him writhes and tries to slip from the bed and escape. Will merely seeks his hand out, catches him by the hair, and with a brutal twist, brings him up close again. He presses his lips together, turns his head enough to spit blood to the floor before casually straddling the man again, arching beautifully and still gloriously hard.

“Alright,” he sighs, “back to where we started to play.”

The struggle is still there, but lessened, the man making the pitiful little whimpering noises as Will coils over him, arches up and slowly smooths himself to lie over the man fully, entirely, one hand in his hair the other stroking along his neck where bruises are already forming, where he will shortly press his hand again and end up. He cocks his head, brows drawn in curiosity, concern.

“Should I be kind to daddy?” he asks sweetly.

“Please,” the man sputters, coughing as air passes through his throat again, as his ribs ache from the force of the strike against his chest. “Please -”

“Please what?” frowns Will, pouty little creature, blood dripping warm against the man’s chest.

“Please help me!” Looking towards Hannibal, desperate now, the man’s breaths come shorter and shorter, no longer from suffocation but from animal panic. “I’m sorry!”

Hannibal arches a brow at the man’s apology, and wonders what he’s more sorry for - choosing to come home with them or thinking that he could have something so extraordinary for nothing.

“Look at me,” Will snarls, fingers tight over the man’s mouth as he jerks his head back to face him. They soothe just as quickly, up along the man’s long nose, swollen and leaking from a split across the bridge of it, and Will follows the wound almost tenderly, grinning as the man flinches and gasps.

“Please, you can have my money - my - my phone, clothes, anything - take everything, please -”

“I know I can,” Will whines softly against him, resting so he has to lift his eyes, his brows to regard the man as Will rests against his chest. “I know I can because you _told_ me I could. You said you would give me the world for a fuck, at that club, do you remember? You would take me to Rome on your private plane if I let you bend me over against the wall. To Paris if I sunk to my knees and sucked you off then and there, _God_.”

He pushes himself up to sit again, a languid stretch with his legs flat on the bed, hands square on the man’s chest as he holds himself in an arch before he slips his knees closer and sits over him that way. He groans, shifts and feels the pull of the bloodied scratches on his skin.

“Never make a promise with your mouth you can’t cash with your ass,” Will sighs, sweet, and bends to kiss the man again, smearing blood between them, holding him still so he can savor this as the man beneath him trembles, sobs. WIll pulls back with a sigh, nuzzles against him with a hum and sets his hand against the man’s throat again.

“Now, please, just hold still.”

The man curses and hurls his weight again, but Will moves with it, hips shifting languid with the frantic undulations of the man’s body. He hushes him, a wet susurrus past swollen, stained lips, drenched down his chest now with his own blood, with the blood that gushed fountainous from the man’s nose when Will drove his head into it.

Hannibal only then realizes that he has, in a strange sort of sympathy, been holding his own breath as well, and releases it slowly. Indulgent, he thumbs along the hardness in his own trousers, just a bare stroke up and down, revelling in the scent of sex and sweat and blood, coppery bright blood, that fills the room. Allowing his mouth to slacken in time with the man gasping to no avail beneath Will’s hands, a soft, vocal sound infuses Hannibal’s long sigh.

It does no good, the struggle, the choking for air, because Will has grown sure and certain in his training, an apt pupil for Hannibal in every way, and does not hold the man’s throat to stop his breath but rather the vessels themselves that run between heart and brain, stopping the circuit of blood through them beneath slender, skilled fingers. It is only moments, though for Hannibal the sight is beautiful enough that it feels as if it were hours, before the man’s thrashing becomes erratic death throes rather than a meaningful struggle, and even still Will holds his fingers firm.

A quiet curse escapes from Hannibal, awestruck by the sight of his little wolf so prideful, frightening in his confidence, effortless in his kill, and as if on cue - some miraculous alignment of the cosmos - all three exhale. The man in death, Will in exhilaration, and Hannibal in wonder.

Small hands settles on either side of the man’s head, still, now, eyes glassy and unseeing, lips parted and purple. Will shivers, his entire body quaking with the sensation, and bites his lip as it passes through him, like the afterglow of orgasm, and just as intense.

Will lifts his eyes to Hannibal, the man still watching in utter silence, letting the entire scene fill him and expand within him. Will watches, hungry, as he uncrosses his leg in that elegant way he always manages, and feels his body respond as though pulled by a string.

“You would have watched him kill me, then,” Will murmurs, and it’s not a question, his lips split into a bright grin and he sits back on his heels, bloody and sweaty and aching.

“He would not have,” responds Hannibal, his voice a little rough, dark and distinctly hungry as he watches Will catch his breath again, chest rising and falling where blood dries sticky brown against it.

“If he had.”

“No,” Hannibal assures him, softly. “That is my right, and belongs to no one else.” His thumb moves again, a languid stroke along the length of the bulge within his pants, visible now as Hannibal uncrosses his legs in kind. “But he would not have. Hurt you, perhaps, worse than he did, but -”

“But?”

“But your skill is extraordinary,” breathes Hannibal, a rare flush of color - dusky rose - across his own cheeks now as he watches Will with heavy-lidded eyes, intoxicated by the sight of him, the very concept of the boy who now sits in cruel triumph above a lifeless body and runs thin fingers against his still-hard cock, streaking it with blood.

“Yeah?” Will grins, body lax, gently trembling from the adrenaline still coursing through it. He slips back to the bed, untangling from the dead man beneath him, and rolls to lie on his back to stretch, every muscle in stark relief, every curve and bend and scar as Will drapes his arms back over the edge of the bed and _moans_ with it, eyes open and bright as he watches Hannibal, notes how his breath catches even now.

“It felt so good, God.” Will spreads his legs, strokes himself slowly, spreading the mess over his skin as he bends, shakes with the pleasure of it, the memory. “I felt him die, Hannibal.”

Another stroke, enough to curl his toes and part Will’s lips on a sweet little whimper, before he pushes himself from the bed, quiet as a cat, takes the steps necessary to get to Hannibal and settles with thighs on either side of his.

“I want you,” he breathes, head ducked as fingers smear blood over Hannibal’s pristine suit and the man pays it no mind, eyes up at Will, entirely enthralled. “Right now, so hard.”

Hannibal has often congratulated himself on his restraint in not eating the boy. He has successfully convinced himself it is only by his conscious choice not to do so, tempting though the boy has been many times in which he so infuriated Hannibal that the older man wondered why he bothered with the effort of keeping his awful boy alive, but still - there have been fewer more tempting moments than this. Will spread across his lap, hips rocking with an insistent need against the blood-soaked grasp of his fingers, bare and primal and so entirely wanton that it’s all Hannibal can do not to rend him rib from rib as if he could be so close to the boy that he might lay his mouth against Will’s very beating heart.

“You are beyond description,” Hannibal praises him, bringing his hands to Will’s thighs and scraping his nails along the bare skin, up higher to his sides, and back down again to leave red lines in the wake of his touch.

A rare orchid, wonderfully poisonous, that only subsists in his full glory when he has been watered with the blood and breath of another. Hannibal ducks his head and kisses Will’s chest, arms sinking around his waist, tongue drawing long through Will’s blood - a familiar and welcome thing - up his sternum, his throat, his chin, to meet his bruised mouth in a cruelly rough kiss.

The sound Will makes is entirely weak, trembling, a surrender, here, a sacrifice made and delivered, and now accepted so wonderfully by the only man he ever does this for, the only man he ever wants to, for. He rubs harder, still the wanton little thing in Hannibal’s lap, brings his bloodied hands up to press against the man’s cheeks, smear the blood there, down his neck, down his chest as well to work the belt from his pants, pulling back with a whimper to watch, head ducked, sensations coursing through his body entirely, overtaking him.

He wants everything, the kiss of the leather against his skin until he sobs, the kiss of the man before him everywhere until Will remembers no other sensation. He tosses the belt aside with shaking fingers, tilts his head when Hannibal splays his hand in his hair to hold him still and kiss his face, he lets his eyes close, his lips part, blindly works the button and fly on Hannibal’s pants before stroking him, already hard, heavy, hot in Will’s palm.

“Please,” he murmurs, smiling wide and turning to kiss Hannibal again, one hand up against his face, the other down between his legs. “I could feel your eyes on me, the entire time, like a caress to my skin, like a slap against it.”

He’s just as breathless now, words coming short and quick as he nuzzles against Hannibal, gasps when he pulls his hair and bends Will back.

Against his lips, Hannibal drags his own, a slow, open kiss that closes against his bottom lip to suck against it hard enough that it splits again. A groan resonates deep in Hannibal’s chest as he feels Will’s heat pulse across his tongue, relishes the beautiful pained sound that breaks ecstatic from Will’s lips before he digs his hand beneath Hannibal’s jaw, forcing him back.

“There is nothing more exquisite than watching you, so,” Hannibal tells him, upper lip curling as he twists his head against the tight grip, pleasure narrowing his eyes when it doesn’t loosen. “Anything you wish, little wolf, you will have,” he swears.

He spreads his hand against Will’s cock, between his legs, giving him friction to rock himself against, to rub and grind his blood-slick length into the fingers that curl around it. Will is released and Hannibal does not fight the hold around his throat.

Truly, when he promises Will anything, there is nothing in the world that is not for his claiming.

Will ruts, for a while he just indulges in the feeling of Hannibal’s hand against him, lets his words work him harder and wetter against his hand as Will takes his pleasure and whines, pleasantly, curling his hands in Hannibal’s suit to hold himself still.

“Not till I say,” he manages finally, voice snapping in the middle on another pleased laugh, as he opens his eyes and watches Hannibal carefully. “You won’t fucking cum till I say.”

Throat working, Hannibal swallows hard beneath Will’s hand, cheeks florid from desire, from the shortness of his breath, from the thrill of Will so entirely self-assured and fulfilled in his own being. He is never more beautiful than in these moments, his true nature wholly realized as a brilliant, clever boy meant to bring into the world acts of sex and violence, unparalleled in his artistry of both. There is nothing Hannibal would not give him, nothing he would not do or die in the attempt if the boy asked it of him, as the little wolf holds the older one entirely submissive.

“Yes,” Hannibal responds. He releases Will’s cock, hand damp with clear slick and darkening blood, and he spans both back around to Will’s ass. A rough squeeze, a harsh spread, and Hannibal works his fingertips fanning against his boy’s opening, still deliciously widened, and only truly for him.

And Will _moans_ , the sound drawn and long and perfect, curving his body backwards then forward, ducking his head against Hannibal’s neck as the older man works him open, torments him here where Will allows him to. Will pushes back against him, arches, spreads his thighs wider and lets Hannibal stretch him with cum and blood, two fingers, then three, and Will winces, trembles, does not make him stop when he stretches him wider still with four.

It’s mindblowing, the sensation, the stretch, the pain and pleasure that rides along together to pulls Will’s senses out of orbit, through the ringer. He laughs, in abandon and utter youthful pleasure, parts his lips to suck a dark mark against Hannibal’s skin, hands up to smear blood into his hair, to hold him close as he bites instead, groans as Hannibal twists his fingers in him and begs again.

He feels so full, as Hannibal finally lets Will sink down against him, his back straight in pleasure, voice drawn and high and needy for him as he makes soft sounds, incoherent and aching. But when Hannibal tries to move him, to grip his hips and control his speed, Will sets both hands against his chest hard, pushes him into his seat with bright eyes and a wide grin, teeth still stained with blood.

“Sit,” he breathes, squeezing his muscles around him, “still.”

Then he pulls off, almost all the way, just to feel the thick head stretch him again, before sinking back down in a brutal push, enough to send them both breathless before Will does it again.

Pulse speeding now that Will has released his throat, driven faster by the movement of his body now instead, Hannibal does as told, a rare compliance when in any other context such an order would see Will dragged through the house and beaten to ecstatic tears. He rests his hands instead against Will’s thighs, stroking the strong muscles inside as he works himself up and harshly down again. Chin lifting, head back and eyes hooded, Hannibal groans softly, watching in wonder as Will - blood-drenched and sweat-soaked and utterly beautiful - fucks himself like a pagan god who has deigned to accept the joining of a mortal.

It is a too-rare pleasure for Hannibal to consider himself as such, beneath the boy-wolf, child-god who sits astride him.

“Did you harden, Will, when you felt his body stop beneath your hand?” breathes Hannibal, ducking his head forward to suck a mark against Will’s neck, and finding himself shoved back into the chair again. “Did you ache with want to feel him shudder into lifelessness inside of you?”

“The faster he breathed,” Will whispers, “the harder he fought, the more and more he resisted me…” He bites his lip, and that is enough of an answer. Will sets his thumb against the hollow of Hannibal’s collarbones, presses there until the man gasps before letting him go, pulling him close by the hair to allow him to suck and kiss as he had wanted to.

This level of control, this power, is so rarely shown physically between them. Will has long since been able to command Hannibal with a look, with a soft word, and more often than not they have no need for such shows of possession, just the desperate desire for it. And rarely, if ever, are those displays by Will. He rides Hannibal, now, like he has not for a long time, hard and quick, brutally deep and enough to leave both shaking, weak, needy for more.

Will pushes Hannibal gently back and leans in himself to suck and kiss the skin there, worshiping the man before him as Hannibal worships him. He nuzzles, twists his hips until he finds that spot, that one place that electrifies his entire body, that sends his laughter to shaking and lips bright, and the rhythm shallows, as Will works himself closer and closer to orgasm, using Hannibal entirely for his own pleasure.

“Don’t,” he warns him, breathless, bringing Hannibal’s hand down, instead, to stroke Will again, to draw helpless whimpers from him as he brushes his lips against the older man’s and keeps fucking him. "Don't you fucking dare cum from this..."

Hannibal's self-restraint is always evident, but it takes a conscious willpower to withhold himself now. As his boy has told him. As his boy desires. Anything, Hannibal had said, and he meant it.

Still an effort, though, to not simply spill Will back across the bed - across the stiffening corpse there - and fuck his boy until Will's lips part on a plea for him to do it harder still.

"Please," Hannibal purrs, their power exchanged wholly, and Hannibal as delighted to indulge Will in the wild frenzy that has taken him as he is his own desires. "Please, Will." A snarl catches his words as his boy snares him by the hair, to drag Hannibal's cheek against the blood streaking his chest. He pulls his tongue through it, lips chasing, until Will jerks him away again to watch Hannibal's teeth bare in a snarl.

"Cruel," murmurs Hannibal. "I adore you, little wolf. I adore you entirely."

“I know,” Will grins, leans in to kiss the taste of blood from his lips, sucks it from his teeth as he cums, hot and hard, in Hannibal’s hand and his entire body shudders. It feels good, it feels so good, with Hannibal still hard inside him, still struggling - for a change - to keep his own orgasm at bay because Will had asked it of him, had told him he had to.

He wraps his arms around Hannibal’s shoulders and tugs his hair softly, an affectionate and utterly loving thing now, his power and mania spent, his possessiveness and desire boiling him still. He rocks against Hannibal, now, slower, circles his hips one way and another, over and over, slow turns that catch Hannibal’s breath in his throat and bring his nails sharp on Will’s skin. 

“I never want you to stop watching me,” Will breathes, nuzzling against Hannibal, feeling the tension in his jaw, the harsh breaths quick against him as he holds back, as he still obeys this wild boy in his arms. “Never want you to stop wanting me.”

It’s almost childish, the request, and Will knows it will be granted, they have proven to each other, time and again, that they are each unable to let the other go, even if they try. And they have tried. Will squeezes around Hannibal again, laughs a low dark sound against his neck as Hannibal growls, warning, against him, but still does not disobey.

“I want you,” Will whispers, tilting his head to speak against Hannibal’s ear, “to do what you wanted to, watching me fuck him. Watching me play with him. I want you to take me, right now, and claim me again.” A wicked grin as Will pulls back, adding, as he arches his back and squeezes his thighs.

“Do it well enough and I might let you cum tonight.”

The words have hardly left his lovely mouth before Hannibal snaps his head back, hand curled viciously in his hair, and he shoves the other one beneath his blood-soaked boy. Still inside of him, brutally hard, Hannibal lifts him to stand, half-dressed still in his stained suit, smeared now with cum and blood and spit and the man utterly mindless of the mess.

With a swift kick to send the chair aside, Hannibal pivots and shoves Will against the wall hard enough to knock the breath gasping, laughing from his lips. It is a violent fucking, enough even for Will’s almost superhuman tolerance for pain to wane with a whimper, forcing the boy to look out over the destruction he’s wrought on another life, as Hannibal focuses only on the destroyer himself.

“I will never,” snarls Hannibal, forehead pressed against Will’s, lips baring sharp teeth, “never stop watching you. I will never stop wanting you. I will never stop having you, and knowing that no other does.”

An oath no less adoring than the worship he laid upon Will as his little wolf rode him wild and savage, an oath pressed between them in blood as he smears their lips and tongues together and with a resonant growl, drives inside of him, again and again, resisting his release by choice now to feel Will so wanton for even a moment more.

"Fuck," Will gasps, grins, laughs, "fuck!"

His toes curl, where he has his legs snared around the man almost viciously tight. He grips Hannibal's hair, curls an arm over his shoulder, moans. He could do this forever, heat and sweat and pain, and the deepest adoration for the man doing this to him.

"Cum," he breathes, biting his lip and releasing it with a laugh. "Hannibal, in me, now, fuck -"

A rough curse rumbles from the man in Lithuanian, pressed breathless into Will’s shoulder as Hannibal bites down against the boy and digs him against the wall, release pulsing through his body as his hips continue their relentless rhythm into him. Again and again, rocking hard against him, even as Hannibal grows nearly dizzy with the force and overwhelming pleasure of it after being held at bay for so long.

Again and again, until panting, a sheen of sweat over his skin, he is left entirely spent, holding Will still against the wall, catching his breath against Will’s skin. Their hearts slowly settle together, blood still rushing against their ears, and Hannibal shivers as Will strokes through his hair and nuzzles against Hannibal’s shoulder in return.

“I will never let you go,” promises Hannibal, sighing long before gentle kisses settle against Will’s skin. “And you will be punished thoroughly for your mouth, and your little remark about my capabilities.”

Will laughs, delighted, and turns Hannibal's face to kiss him properly, suddenly gentle, entirely loving, Will feels like his heart will burst from the feeling.

"You will make me scream," he sighs, soft, "and I will love you for it. For everything. Fuck." Another laugh, another kiss, and Will thinks of how of all the places and people, souls upon souls and times within times, he managed to find the right car, the right man, and convince him to let him live.

"I love you." Skinny arms around Hannibal’s shoulders, soft lips to his as he smiles, eyes closed. "We need a bath," he whispers, "then I'll take him downstairs, we can prepare him tomorrow. And then I'll come back to bed and hope you have the capabilities to teach me a lesson," he grins, biting Hannibal's bottom lip and tugging, "old man."

“Spoiled child,” Hannibal purrs against him, returning the fond, lingering kiss, and lifting a hand to follow the bridge of Will’s nose. A cut there, but not broken, lower again to trace against his boy’s mouth, teeth in place still and a split upon his swelling lip. His face will darken beautifully by the morning, rings beneath his eyes from the blow against his nose, but no true harm was done and Hannibal nuzzles his cheek.

Wolves, always, quick to check the other once the hunt is over, to ensure their mate is well enough to hunt again.

Satisfied with his explorations, Hannibal slides his arm back beneath the boy again, holding him with both and exhaling as he finally pulls out of Will, and turns to carry him for the bath.

“Will you carry him down to the basement?” Hannibal asks, amused by the boy’s offer as he passes by the now-stiff body laid across their bed.

Will hums, arms draped over Hannibal’s shoulders, face pressed to one in a pouting, childish manner. He grins, straightens as they leave the bedroom.

"I will,” he decides, stroking over Hannibal’s neck to loosen his tie, start on the buttons. "He's mine and he was so rude to you," Will smirks. “Don't think I didn't see him gloating."

“Don’t think I didn’t see you do the same,” murmurs Hannibal, lowering Will carefully to the ground and sighing, content, as little fingers work off his clothing. A slight smile appears, genuine, but with a narrowing of eyes in equal pleasure as he adds, “And you know how kindly I deal with rudeness.”


End file.
